


Cigar Burns

by CaptainCorgi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Don't Smoke in the Bedroom, Friendship/Love, M/M, Old Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:03:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7269442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCorgi/pseuds/CaptainCorgi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lovers' quarrels have no place on the battlefield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cigar Burns

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little drabble that was inspired by a text post I saw somewhere mentioning what might happen if Reinhardt decided to “intervene” in a little lovers’ quarrel. Dedicated to my good friend @alycake-fr and Catfriend.

_**Anything in italics is Japanese. I don't speak the language and don't want to butcher it trying to translate it. Also I'm lazy._

Even at night Illios was picture perfect. Here he was hiding amongst topiaries aiming down targets. The cover wasn't necessary - the action of staying concealed was muscle memory. Deep breaths. Wait for the target to present itself. His ears picked up individual sounds - waves against the breaks, palms rustling with the wind combing through them, bullets ricocheting off rock hard stucco. His notched arrow faltered, dropping towards the ground as he sighed in frustration. The docket has said this was an easy mission - simple reconnaissance. Judging from the sounds of battle, the two he'd been sent to contended that point.

"Pardner," the familiar drawl rose up to meet him. Tensing for but a second Hanzo glanced over the lip of his perch. Standing with one hand on his belt whilst the other flicked up the brim of his hat was the ban of the Shimada's existence - Jesse McCree. "Figured you'd be holed up somewhere like a damn prairie dog."

The cowboy's answer came in the form of an eye roll and cold shoulder. The archer released breath through his teeth making an annoyed tsking noise. 

"That answers that," McCree's shoulders drooped, the cowboy kicking the toe of a boot into the concrete. Around the duo sounds of fighting continued, getting closer by the second. "You've been holding onto this grudge harder than a bulldog does a bone." 

_"That's the idea,"_ Hanzo grumbled.

"Stop speaking that Shanghai mumbo! You know I can't understand a lick you say!" McCree shouted up. A stray bullet pelted the stucco feet to the cowboy's left resulting in a muttered string of expletives from McCree. His spurs jangled as he turned, Peacekeeper drawn, aiming from the hip. "I'm tryin' my damnedest to apologize here!"

"Where did you lose our comrade?" Hanzo had already ducked back into cover, listening and promptly ignoring the cowboy's antics. The archer was only slightly worried for the well-being of the gigantic German knight. Reinhardt could handle himself. Why though Winston wanted to send the man in a mere recon mission when stealth was far from his forte Hanzo could not fathom. The archer had even argued against the assignment - he could work well enough alone. He did not need to be saddled with McCree.

"Big guy? He's can take care of himself." McCree rolled to the side, coming up with his back pressed against the wall peering around the edge. Five shots erupted from his revolver. "Don't change the subject!"

 _"You're a damn idiot._ Stop giving away my position," Hanzo shot off, crouching to the side to none the less peer over the lip at the cowboy. McCree hadn't been shot yet. The archer's arrow found its mark on the wall across from their position. The infrared scanner imbedded in the tip revealing a contingent of at least eight aggressors. They also had a sniper and it was that person Hanzo was scanning for.

"No! Not until you-" McCree was cut off, forced to duck back into cover as another round of bullets peppered the wall the cowboy was hiding behind. "Not until you let me apologize!"

"You set my best haori on fire," Hanzo snarled. The archer was not sporting his trademark half covering of dark blues. Instead Hanzo had been forced into a much too bright white top. There was the distant scream and crunch of men as an unmistakable German bellowed curse echoed off the close knit buildings.

"It was an accident!" McCree shouted firing off three shots. The bullets found three marks if the following cries of pain indicated anything. The cowboy turned, tumbling over to another wall as more shots peppered his previous hiding spot. One bullet barely missed tearing through his bionic arm - still ripping a hole in the poncho. "Shitting hells!" McCree growled, one finger finding the damage. 

The archer exhaled - not realizing he had been holding his breath. That last shot had come close. If the foolish pig headed cowboy wasn't so distracted and had chosen any other time to try to make amends they would not be in this situation. As it figured, Hanzo was pinned down in his limited cover. The archer ran the risk of extreme exposure should he attempt to find a new perch. If McCree hadn't been shouting at him. If McCree hadn't tried to apologize. If McCree had more than two cents rattling around in his head this recon would never have gone sour so fast. Hanzo stopped his mental list, ducking as a shot embedded itself into the soil where he had been crouched seconds before.

"You did not need the cigar," Hanzo growled. The archer dove to the side, risking exposing himself to make the jump to a new ledge. As expected multiple shots fired through the open air behind him. One clipped the heel of his prosthetic but bounced to the side. The impact still caused him to stumble, a second bullet nicking the back of his head, tearing through his ribbon. "Stupid cowboy is going to get me killed."

"Pardner?" Hanzo groaned in response. He had landed wrong, jarring his shoulder but the bow and its notched arrow were intact. "Look I know I messed up! I'll buy ya a new top! You can even pick it-" McCree was cut off, the obnoxious echo of a sniper shot quieting both men. "That banana brained ape didn't say anything about a sniper." The cowboy peeled around the edge of where he was hidden, the stucco exploding into his face as a sniper shot blew up the wall beside him.

"This isn't about a shirt." Hanzo shouted in retort, an infrared arrow lodging itself in the wall yards away. The scan revealed the sniper. Eyes narrowed, evening his breathing Hanzo rose from cover for a brief second, his arrow finding its mark. The projectile did not deal a lethal blow but the sniper would not be shorting again with an arrow lodged in the barrel of their rifle. 

"Got'em!" McCree exclaimed, whooping up at the archer. Hanzo glanced down, fighting back a smirk at the contagious energy the cowboy was exuding. The solid noise of Reinhardt stomping back in their direction confirmed that most - if not all - of the attackers had been neutralized. The click of a gun loading denied that assumption. The archer's eyes flew back to the sniper, a new gun the masked man's hands.

"Get down!" Hanzo notched another arrow, aimed at the sniper. It would not reach in time. The bullet patted directly for the cowboy.

McCree's face fell at the unmistakable sound. Hanzo shot, his arrow flying at the cowboy. In reaction McCree grunted, throwing himself to dodging the arrow. The movement took the cowboy out of the bullet's path as well. Still a new thick line across McCree's upper arm revealed blood and that he had not escaped unscathed. Not hesitating Hanzo notched a second arrow, firing, killing the sniper. Dropping down, prosthetics hissing in protest, Hanzo walked to stand before McCree. The cowboy in question was holding the wound, stemming blood flow.

"I took a bullet for ya," McCree chuckled. "Forgive me now sour puss?"

Without warning, Hanzo slammed his hand - open palm - against the wound. The sound McCree emitted was a mixture of squeak and squeal.

 _"You're an idiot! What made you think now was the time to resolve these issues?! What is going on in that smoke filled brain?"_ A strong of curses followed and McCree visibly shrunk under the verbal assault even if he did not understand the words. Taking a breath, hand coming up to hold his forehead Hanzo scrunched his eyes closed in frustration.

"So... Maybe?" McCree spoke with a grin.

"No." Hanzo dead pan responded, glaring up at the cowboy. His bow had been replaced to his back but for a brief moment the archer considering putting an arrow between the cowboy's eyes.

"It's been three days. Let the bone go," exasperated McCree groaned out the complaint.

"Admit your error," Hanzo began holding up his half gloved hand when the other man made a noise of protest. "I want your word you won't bring another cigar into the bedroom."

"I did ya a wrong yes but I ain't promising the second half," McCree pushed his hat back into the crown of his head, wiping away sweat with his free hand.

"Unacceptable," Hanzo was excellent at making a man feel smaller than he really was.

"Look. I gave ya an apology. I meant it. I ain't giving up my cigars."

"It is a disgusting habit."

"Yes."

"I should quit."

"Yes."

"Ain't gonna happen." McCree could be just as stubborn.

"Start to stop. No more cigars in the bedroom-"

"So I can have'em in other places?" McCree sounded hopeful, eyes lighting up.

"Fine. But in moderation." Hanzo was quick to add the stipulation but even that did not stop McCree from popping a new smoke into his mouth, lighting the end with one hand and practiced ease. Hanzo shook his head. This was a battle the archer was never going to win but he tried.

"This wasn't really about the shirt then huh?" McCree smirked around his smoke.

"No. Partially." Hanzo turned away, trying to hide how grumpy he was at being so easily figured out.

"Don't pout now darlin'," McCree began but the unmistakable thud of heavy metal on concrete and clang of custom armor interrupted. Reinhardt came around the corner, massive hammer hoisted across his shoulders and helm tucked underneath of the other appendage. A mop of sweat streaked gray hair and beard grinned down at the duo.

"We did a fine job!" Reinhardt bellowed, the laughter in the big man's voice rumbling from his belly. "What say you fellows to making our exit? The others should be waiting at the rendezvous."

Silence fell - awkward and heavy. Hanzo maintained an even stare. McCree fidgeted under the gaze. Looking from one man to the other the older warrior's eyes fell McCree's bullet wound.

"You're hurt!" Reinhardt's gauntleted hand moved to see the injury but McCree jerked away.

"Flesh wound. I'll live. No need ta worry yourself," the cowboy placated.

"None sense! You must see Dr. Ziegler right away!" Without hesitation the burly man donned his helm, free hand reaching down to toss McCree over a shoulder. The cowboy cried out, protesting the treatment. McCree glanced at Hanzo for help but the archer only shrugged. "Alright! Let's get you to the rendezvous! You can follow yes?" Reinhardt waited for a second - Hanzo responded with a nod - before activating the jets on the back of his suit. Reinhardt took off through Illios' night drenched streets carrying a flailing distraught cowboy. 

Bending down to pick up the hat that had been jettisoned off, Hanzo donned the ridiculous accessory before following behind the duo. Mechanical feet barely touching the roof tops, the archer was smirking the whole way back.


End file.
